Face Your Fears
by RockinJanelle
Summary: Her necklace was the only support she had between life and death. And she was ready to start the show. Molliarty. PG-13. TRIGGER WARNING: There's suicide and dark moments. Continue at your own discretion.


**Title: **"Face Your Fears"  
><strong>Pairing: <strong>_Molly/__Moriarty__  
><em>**TV Show: **_BBC Sherlock__  
><em>**Word Count: **_~1,600_  
><strong>Rating: <strong>_T_  
><strong><br>A/N: I hate this fic so much. The ending sucks, and asiolfmadsklrjaioewmfds**

**TRIGGER WARNING: There's suicide. And some dark thoughts. **

**I REPEAT: TRIGGER WARNING. I'm not joking. If you are sensitive to this stuff, you have been warned.**

**Enjoy it, as much as you can.**

**x x x x x x x x x x x x x **

He was usually home at this time. Where was he? He was going to miss a show, a grand show, one that would require fireworks and gunfire and one great light show. He would be proud of her for one thing, and he would smile, say how lovely she was. And he would try to get her down from her throne, but she would not hear his voice call for her as she stood high and proud on the throne.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Her head hurt. And her mind was messing with her again. See, it was Hell on Earth living with Moriarty, this criminal mastermind. He would talk to her about the day's events, how he would mutilate the next victim after the next, just to get the attention of Sherlock Holmes. But the whole world was watching. How could Sherlock miss something so grand? And Moriarty would not have this. If Sherlock did not react how Moriarty wanted him to, she would be punished. _She_ would be beaten, scarred, mutilated—she would feel it all, pounded in her over and over again until he was satisfied with his torture. And then he would just smile. "Good girl," he'd say.

She was hardly let out of the house. His guards stood outside—she would know, she tried to escape, and Moriarty was not pleased when he found out. "Come now, do you really think you can outrun someone like me?" And he'd be at it again, tearing at her hair, scratching her back, holding her down on the bed until she screamed Bloody Mary. And when the air was caught in her throat by his power, he'd just smile. "Never do that again, my Molly. We wouldn't want something worse to happen to you."

But it happened. Something worse happened just weeks ago, when she was eating some food in the refrigerator. Something terrible and nightmarish happened, and she did not want it to happen to anyone else. But no one would hear someone scream in the middle of nowhere, when they all thought she was just a playful vixen under his control because she liked it. She saw the looks when she was let out; she knew what they were thinking.

Molly looked down at the ground. She felt a little dizzy, maybe because she had been skipping meals every day since she found out. But she gripped onto the necklace around her neck, carefully keeping her balance between the ground and her body. A small item was wrapped inside her fingers, carefully swinging with her, just enough where its presence was known to the world. She did not look at it, however; she kept her eyes on the far ground.

The doorknob started to turn. Her head snapped to the doorway as she watched it swing open. And he had the same smile on his face, as if he knew this day would come. Her body started to shake, her heart started to race. She was afraid of the man, but she would not let him ruin her. Her eyes started to rapidly blink, tears falling down her cheeks.

"Now, now, Molly, you can get hurt up there," he said. He shut the door behind him and she turned her body toward him. The throne underneath started to wobble. "And you know how much I _hate_ to see you get injured."

Molly shook her head. "I am not listening to you, Jim," she whispered. He frowned.

"Tragic," he whispered back. "You should listen to what I have to say." She swung her arm back and threw the little stick that was in her hand at him. He didn't flinch; he just looked down at the item on the ground, knowing full well what it was. His eyes widened a bit, his eyebrows twitched. His eyes went back to Molly. "How long?"

She bit down on her lip. "Two weeks I've known. Who knows how long, though," she replied back. "Does it really matter?"

He smirked. "No, not at all," he let his eyes fall back to the stick. "But oh, what a joyous occasion. You must be so _happy_."

"Shut up," her voice started to crack. Moriarty noticed how malicious, too, it sounded. "Do you think I'm happy, Jim?" She pleaded to him.

Moriarty tiled his head up to her and stared. "Do you think I care?"

"No, I don't. It's why," she started to swing. The throne wobbled again. "I'm dying tonight."

"I am not stopping you."

"I know."

They stared at each other, one scared and afraid for what was to come, the other playing with Death. He took a step forward, his foot crushing the little stick, and she inched back on her throne, watching him get closer and closer. "Stay back."

"Why are you so afraid of it? I thought you wanted one," He smiled. "Is it because you are afraid it will turn out to be nothing like you?" He stopped right in front of her. She started to shake more. "Are you scared it will be just like its father?"

"Stop," she whispered.

"It won't love you. It will hate you. It will become a murderer, just like its father. It will have no emotions about anything at all. It will have no care in the world. It will just want to have fun."

"Stop!" She screamed.

"But it won't stop, it can't stop. Right now, it's growing inside of you, breathing the same air you do, but it is already mutating into a horrible demon, a spawn of the Devil. And when it looks at me for the first time, it will know how lucky it will be for having a father just like me."

"Please stop," she cried. He reached out to her with his hands, and she leaned as far away as she could without falling off her high chair. She closed her eyes as she felt the heat come closer and closer, wanting to rip her from the ceiling and punish her. Instead, she felt nothing. He didn't touch her, he didn't grab her, he didn't do anything. Was something wrong? Did he finally understand how afraid she was?

She opened one eye to peek out into the world, to see the darkness circulate around her frozen body suspended in mid air. She opened the other and looked down at him. He was smiling, holding onto her throne. "But, my Molly," his voice, she heard it before. She knew this voice. He was going to punish her. She started to scratch at her neck, trying to force herself out of the necklace, trying to rip apart the thing that fed her, but she knew. She knew all along why he was standing there, why he wanted to be near her. She knew. "We can't have any of that, now can we?"

She tried to scream, but her breath was just a gasp of fresh air. He ripped the throne out from under her feet, and she felt herself falling through the air, trying to grab onto something else besides the necklace. But she realized too late that she should've held onto it for all the life she had. She felt the rope cling to her neck, choking the air out of her lungs. She tried to breathe, but Moriarty was stealing all the air from her. Molly looked down at him and saw him just staring at her stomach; she began to black out.

Moriarty let his fingertips graze her stomach, feeling the warmth spark between him and her. How she wished to scream to not touch her ever again, but she realized it would only be moments more. She started to convulse. He looked into her eyes as she started to die. He frowned. "Oh Molly," he whispered. She let out her final breath in her body, feeling her lungs conflict with the rest of the world. He did not know what he was feeling, but perhaps it was the first time he was feeling remorse. But he hated her, and was disgusted at the thought of her.

She felt her feet twitching for something to rest on, her arms feeling very heavy. Her eyes started to glaze. He brushed her clothing away from her stomach so he could see the pale skin shine under the musky light. All the bruises and cuts, yet something lived inside there. And she was taking it from the world. Was it for its own good? Moriarty closed his eyes and leaned his head near her skin. He brought his lips to the shown skin and could imagine seeing the little demon scratching at its nest to get out. When he opened his eyes, he smiled. "We certainly have something in common: we were very afraid of it."

He leaned away and looked up at her. She was gone. His hand left her stomach, the pulsations ceasing. She tried to call out to him, but instead dangled in the air, wishing for him to come back. He took a few steps back from what he had done and looked at her lifeless body staring out into the world, admiring the artwork in the middle of his flat. He didn't know what to call what she had done, killing herself because of something he had done to her, but his artwork would have a name. All things beautiful needed something dedicated to their lives, but she. What would she get as a title?

He leaned against the kitchen counter and watched her rot away in the cooled darkness. A proper ending to a tortured life, he thought.

Perfection.


End file.
